


saw your light on (honey, in the cold i stood)

by Oop



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Pre-s3, Tommy's pov, Voyeurism, i just really like it when tommy has Feelings, it feels good to get this out of my drafts, this is on the cusp between mature and explicit, unrequited tommy/steve, you know like how people do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:35:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oop/pseuds/Oop
Summary: Tommy sees Billy fucking Hargrove step into the window frame that makes all of this feel like a bad tv show. Billy has his hands on Steve’s hips, his mouth open against Steve’s lips, his hair dripping chlorine water onto Steve’s shoulders. And Steve- Well, he’s living for it, clearly, one arm around Billy’s neck, creeping down his back, the other on Billy’s ass, gripping tight, and Tommy. Tommy’s shocked stupid, but ignited. He was right; those two idiots can get along. But mostly it’s an ugly fire, all gasoline and kerosene licking at his stomach and chest, reaching all the way up behind his eyes.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Tommy H./Steve Harrington
Comments: 15
Kudos: 250





	saw your light on (honey, in the cold i stood)

**Author's Note:**

> I looked up so many refs for Steve's room but then completely ignored that his window doesn't have a roof? So please just go with it. (Also, I imagine Steve's room so differently in my head than in canon and i don't why)

On the climb to Steve’s window, Tommy almost falls twice. It’s too goddamned cold, first of all, to be shimmying up a drain pipe with bare hands. Second of all, it snowed yesterday, turning everything slick under Tommy’s worn out sneakers. If Steve would just open the front door, Tommy wouldn’t have to _risk his fucking life_ just to talk to him. To apologize, probably. Honestly, Tommy had thought that, with Wheeler out of the picture, Steve would come back to him, but it’s been weeks and weeks, months, and all Tommy knows is that Steve hasn’t even glanced in his direction.

Tommy misses him, okay?

Also, his mom will not shut up about, “Whatever happened between you and Steve? Why don’t you invite him over? You always loved Steve.”

That’s one of her favorite stories: the first time Tommy met Steve, when they were both five and the Harringtons had just finished building their house down the street, they’d hit it off right away. When the Halls left that afternoon, the new neighbor cookies delivered and introductions properly made, Tommy had easily declared, “Bye! Love you!”

It’s always been that way, for Tommy. “You’re lucky,” his mom had said when he was twelve and telling her about the girl in class he was certain he would marry someday, “you’re decisive in love.” 

Eventually, the declarations grew into “Love you, man”s, a little less childish enthusiasm, a little more socially acceptable, but the same earnestness. 

And it was good. Things with Steve were always good. Right up until Nancy. 

Tommy doesn’t have anything against Nancy, except he really _does_ . Even before she broke Steve’s heart ( _cheated_ on him with that fucking _creep_ ), even before she made Steve forget what _fun_ was, the real issue was that she took something from Tommy. She took Steve, and Tommy… didn’t cope. Steve was always the one to step in, to say, “C’mon, man, it’s not worth it.” So when Tommy had squared up to Steve himself, there was no one to stop him when all it would have taken was a hand on his shoulder. 

Finally pulling himself onto the roof, Tommy wipes his chilled hands on his jeans. Staying crouched, he moves over to the window. He doesn’t want to startle Steve, but he doesn’t want to make a racket, either. No need to get the cops called on him. 

Tommy might be the only person alive who knows it, but Steve is terrified of the dark. Has been since they were kids. When he’d stayed over as a kid, he’d always cry until Tommy held his hand, pulled him into bed, threw an arm over him. So it’s no surprise that the light is on in Steve’s room, a gentle warm glow coming from the lamp on his dresser. Tommy can’t see it from this angle, but he would know where it was blind. Everything in there is so familiar: the desk (which he also can’t see), the made bed, the fucking Christie Brinkley poster that Steve has had up for _years_. Everything’s still tidy and plaid; nothing’s changed. It makes Tommy ache.

Well, something has changed: there’s no Steve in there. 

“Fuck!” Tommy made the climb for nothing. It was stupid of him, anyway. What did he think was going to happen? Steve would just let Tommy into his room and they’d make up and things would just go back to how they were before? It’s stupid how _bad_ Tommy wants that, and it’s stupid that he thought it could be this easy. 

With a sigh, he starts backing away from the window. Maybe he’ll see what Billy’s up to tonight. Not that he’s the second-best option, but, well, Tommy has always had this image of the three of them being friends. Things have gotten so jumbled up, though; Tommy fought with Steve and then Billy _beat the shit_ out of Steve but- it’s fucking stupid but- Tommy thinks Billy and Steve could be friends if they just cut the shit for a minute. And maybe, if Steve can forgive him, Tommy could, like- what is it Mrs. Klink calls it?- _mediate_ or something. 

Because Tommy had known, the moment he laid eyes on Billy, that he loves the same as Tommy does: immediate, ferocious, indisputable. And he knows, when Billy saw Steve, that he loved him, too, or would if he let himself, and _that_ was why Tommy latched onto him. Because Billy understands, or _would_ if he got his head out of his ass. Steve is goddamned easy to love, _scary-easy_ for someone like Billy, and that’s all Tommy wants, is for things to be _easy_ again.

Tommy’s on the edge of the roof, blinking back frustration, when he hears the door to Steve’s room open. Tommy’s done a lot of dumb shit in front of Steve, but he’s never _frozen_. Not until now. It was easy to think: _oh, I’ll just go see Steve and say sorry and things will be fine_. But now that Steve’s _right_ _there_ , it feels impossible. Tommy isn’t a coward- is a lot of bad things, probably, but not a coward- but he can feel himself start to shake. He doesn’t move, can’t even _look,_ until he hears Steve laugh, loud and open, and for a moment Tommy imagines that Steve sees him out here, that he laughs because Tommy’s a dumbass, but it’s a good laugh so he’s gonna open the window and call Tommy an idiot but help him inside. 

When Tommy looks toward the window, Steve isn’t looking at him. He’s got his wet hair flipped upside-down, scrubbing at it with a towel. If he so much as twitched his eyes toward the window, he’d probably see Tommy. But he doesn’t. He’s focused on something near the door, something Tommy can’t see. He says something, but Tommy has always been shit at reading lips so he can hear the cadence of Steve’s voice but not the words he’s saying. 

And then there’s another voice, familiar, and Tommy’s stomach goes tight. He leans forward, just a bit, trying to _see_ so he can _believe_ , but the angle is no good. 

Steve laughs again, then tosses the towel over the back of the desk chair, where he’s always hung wet towels. Almost immediately, when he turns back around, hands catch his forearms, reel him out of Tommy’s line of sight. But those aren’t dainty little hands and Tommy would be lying if he said Steve had never given him a show (or vice versa), and he wasn’t invited to this one but he stays riveted to his spot anyway, curiosity a heavy weight in his chest. Because maybe there’s always been a little jealousy there, but mostly because he used to know everything going on in Steve’s life, and now he doesn’t even know who he’s with, or… or what kind of person he’s even _attracted_ to anymore. 

Tommy almost doesn’t want to know.

Almost.

Except he really, absolutely does. Can’t stand the thought of _not_ knowing, no matter how his gut twists. He doesn’t dare get closer to the window, couldn’t move even if he wanted to, so he waits and watches. 

It doesn’t take long. Steve steps back once, twice, and then Tommy sees Billy _fucking_ Hargrove step into the window frame that makes all of this feel like a bad tv show. Billy has his hands on Steve’s hips, his mouth open against Steve’s lips, his hair dripping chlorine water onto Steve’s shoulders. And Steve- Well, he’s living for it, clearly, one arm around Billy’s neck, creeping down his back, the other on Billy’s ass, gripping tight, and Tommy. Tommy’s shocked stupid, but ignited. He was _right;_ those two idiots _can_ get along. But mostly it’s an ugly fire, all gasoline and kerosene licking at his stomach and chest, reaching all the way up behind his eyes. 

He’s loved Steve since he first met him when they were five, but Steve has never once looked at him the way he looks at Billy Hargrove, who beat the everliving _fuck_ out of him like two months ago. And Steve didn’t tell him and Billy didn’t tell him, was anyone _ever_ going to tell him? He could have learned to be happy for them, if they’d told him, but finding out like this--

The fire scorches everything, roasts his heart to perfect tenderness and then more.

Tommy can’t look away. It’s not even titillating now. No, the opposite really, scooping Tommy out like the pumpkins still sitting on the Halls’ stoop just a block down the road. Tommy _has_ _to_ watch though, so maybe he can understand. He _needs_ to understand. So he swallows back the fire behind his eyes and the sick in his stomach so he can see with terrible clarity how Steve drags Billy back to his bed. How he kicks away his wet trunks and tugs Billy’s down with an eagerness that parallels, _“Bye! Love you!”_ How Steve leans back with adoration in his eyes as Billy’s hands cradle his head. How he laughs, so full and open, head thrown back, at something Billy must’ve said. 

And _Billy_ . Billy is unlike Tommy’s ever seen him. Gentle, not one trace of that manic, angry energy that always buzzes through his skin. Careful, every touch reverent and kind. _Beautiful_ . Of course Tommy knows Billy is attractive; he has _eyes_ , okay? But this is Billy with damp hair and water tracing the sculpted dips of his back, every movement clear and sharp and defined under his smooth, tanned skin. And Tommy likes Billy, but in that moment, he hates him. Hates him because he leans forward and kisses Steve Harrington, and Steve scoots back and makes room for him on the bed because he wants Billy there. 

It’s a grotesque puppet show, what Tommy watches, a silent horror film. Billy straddles Steve’s hips, Steve’s hands run over his abs with a furrow in his brow. Even Tommy can make out the “You sure?” And Billy nods, blinking his stupid eyelashes so he looks innocent and meek under his wet curls. He looks _soft_. And Steve looks at him like Billy hung the entire goddamned sky and Tommy’s going to burst out of his skin. 

Tommy’s never really thought about sex with another guy. Well, yeah, he has, but only the giving end. He never realized how much work it takes, the preparation, but Billy gets through it probably as attractively as possible, worrying his bottom lip when Steve’s not kissing it, arching his back, working against his fingers. 

And none of this was ever about the sex, but Tommy finds himself half hard anyway. He can see, clear as day, that Steve is fully hard, hands petting over Billy’s skin, still staring up at him like he’s the luckiest guy on earth, like he’s never… like he’s never…

But Tommy would have. Would have been his first, would have been his _anything_ , if Steve had just asked. It’s impossible to imagine himself in Billy’s place while he’s watching Billy, who is too tan and too blond and too cut to ever be pushed aside for a self-insert fantasy, but Tommy still gasps when Steve starts pressing inside, feels his mouth mimic the “o” of Billy’s. Steve looks like he’s seeing all the secrets of the universe lain out in front of him, looks like he’s about to cry as Billy works his way down and down until they’re flush together. And then Billy tips his forehead against Steve’s so they’re breathing the same air, breathing in synch (they probably don’t even notice that they’re so in synch, but Tommy can see it), and Tommy can’t _take_ it. He wants off of this hell ride, but if he moves, he’s gonna make noise, and he doesn’t want that, but if he stays he _has_ to keep watching. He’s hard in his jeans, harder than he’s been in a long time. All he wanted was some insight, some understanding, not _all of this_. 

Tommy has watched Steve fuck before, but that was all it was. Just a fuck. They were young and Steve had said, “Hey, Hall, wanna show?” This. This is _not_ that. There’s nothing affected here, nothing done for showmanship. This is just Steve… making love. To the boy he so clearly, so desperately loves. And it’s beautiful, everything: the way they hold each other, the way they move together, the way Steve pushes Billy’s hair out of his face so he can look at him unobstructed. Can share a smile with him and track every expression that moves across his face.

A great, yawning ache opens right in the center of Tommy, splits him like a fault in an earthquake. He’s felt this fissure for a while, felt it chafing and opening one crack at a time, and until now he’s let everything fall into it. Now, he tries desperately to hold everything in place, to keep himself whole. 

HIs eyes blur when Billy comes and Steve looks like he’s been blessed. He doesn’t stick around for the rest. As quietly as possible, the quietest Tommy’s ever been in his life, he slips back down the drainpipe. Mostly, it feels like freefalling. He lands so hard that he falls backward, slides in the snow so it seeps into the top of his coat, chilling his neck. 

He gets up, wipes his nose, and looks back up toward Steve’s room, where the light has always been a beacon, a north star, and he still feels drawn toward it despite everything. But it’s too goddamned cold, first of all, to stand out here wishing for a different ending. Second of all, Tommy knows that tomorrow he’ll knock on Steve’s door again, because a lot of things change, but some things don't, and Tommy's a lot of things but he’s not a coward and _that_ hasn't changed.

**Author's Note:**

> I did that thing with this where I was /amped/ to write something, so I started it, and then abandoned it for months and couldn't remember what the original inspo was, so I'm not really sure what I was aiming for here, but i hope you liked it!


End file.
